


The First of Many (The Joy of Cooking Remix)

by listerinezero



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Angel make a family dinner post-Cuba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First of Many (The Joy of Cooking Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a sky which beholds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/252567) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust). 



> An unofficial remix - unfortunately, things got a little hectic for me and I had to default. But better late than never, right?

Angel burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. She’d just stepped out of the kitchen to take the last bag of groceries out of Charles’ hands, and when she returned, she found Erik standing in front of the oven with his hands on his hips, wearing an apron. A pink apron. It was too much – there was no way she could have held back the giggles.

“Is something funny?” Erik asked, glaring at her, but Angel could see the amusement peeking out from behind his arched eyebrow.

“No, nothing!” she told him through a grin. “Pink is a nice color on you, Magneto.”

His glare receded. “I prefer Erik,” he said as unpacked another grocery bag. “And I only have three shirts. I’m not about to lose one to chicken grease in the name of ‘family dinner.’”

It had been Charles’ idea for them to have a ‘family dinner’ (as he called it), but Erik had quickly taken charge of the task. After the turbulence of Cuba and the uncertainty hovering over them in the days since, he seemed happy to have a new goal. Shaw was dead; onto the chicken. 

Angel understood that feeling and happily made a place for herself as his sous chef. As the only other person in the house who knew her way around a kitchen, and possibly the only person feeling as lost post-Cuba as he was, she was all too happy to stand at his side while he flipped through an old copy of The Joy of Cooking, awaiting instructions.

“You never struck me as the cookbook type,” she said when the silence became awkward.

“Yes, well, in the past, most of my cooking has been for one, and not the type of food most of you would very much like to eat. So if Charles wants me to prepare an American-style family dinner, I’m going to need a little bit of guidance.”

That seemed fair. Angel could hardly criticize him for wanting to find something they would all like to eat. She could remember cooking Sunday dinners at her grandmother's house when she was a kid, with twenty mouths to feed, and her grandmother shooing away anyone who tried to make a special request. They would eat what she gave them, she'd said. 

Erik couldn't get away with that. Erik didn't have forty years of history with the people in the house. They weren't his family. 

But Angel noticed Erik marking recipes for later.

“Do you think you’ll stay?” Angel asked him quietly.

Erik glanced up. “Here?”

She nodded. “I was a little surprised you came back at all.”

The silence following her question stretched on long enough for Angel to regret asking until Erik replied, “So am I.” He shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing for the moment. There’s no reason I can’t leave again tomorrow, or next week.”

“Are you going to?” Angel asked again. “Leave tomorrow, I mean.”

Instead of answering, Erik turned it back to her. “Are you?” he asked. 

“I don't know,” she told him honestly. “I guess I'll give it another try, at least for a few days.” She hesitated before adding, “It's easier for you. You have Charles. I don't have any handsome men here crawling into my bed at night.”

Angel half expected to be thrown out of the kitchen, if not the country, for mentioning his and Charles' relationship out loud, but Erik didn't flip the way she thought he would. Instead he continued turning the pages of the cookbook with strained nonchalance, and after a moment asked, “You know about me and Charles?”

“You were all over each other at the club when you came to meet me,” she told him. “I don't know if anyone else knows, and haven't told anybody, but yes, I know.”

Erik must have been satisfied by that answer, because he relaxed and let the matter drop. “You may as well start by peeling the potatoes. Actually, do the carrots first. Then the potatoes.”

“You got it, boss.”

Angel did as she was told, making quick work of the carrots and the potatoes. Meanwhile Erik started on the chicken, preparing it for roasting and wondering aloud whether or not the one large chicken would be enough to feed everyone.

“Oh, I'm sure you can make it work,” said a third voice. It was Charles, stepping into the kitchen to have a look at their work so far. He looked absolutely tickled by the sight of Erik in a frilly pink apron, but unlike Angel, he was smart enough not to comment. 

“And what did I say about you coming into the kitchen?” Erik asked.

Charles smirked as he answered, “I believe you said I wasn't allowed within ten feet or you'd shave off my eyebrows with a butcher's knife.”

Watching Erik playfully shoo Charles out of the kitchen, frilly apron and all, left Angel with a smile on her face. Erik was quietly grinning, too.

When the oven was hot enough, they put the chicken in with the carrots and some onions. Angel started work on the mashed potatoes and Erik started prepping the asparagus. Angel suggested a few more side dishes they could throw together to fill the table, and Erik asked her to tell him about the food she made with her grandmother when she was a kid. They worked side by side in a nice rhythm, in quiet companionship.

Until Erik said, “No.”

That surprised her. “No what?”

“Your earlier question. No, I won't be leaving tomorrow.”

“Good,” said Angel. She gave the frilly apron a tug. “And maybe your boyfriend might buy you a couple shirts so you won't have to wear this thing.”

Thankfully, Erik chuckled. “We'll see.”


End file.
